Page 20 of Sophie's Ruin
My feet moved as if of their own accord as I approached the girl, drawn to the book in her lap.
“I’m Amelie. You must be from New Haven.” She smiled at me.
“Yes, I’m Sophie,” I introduced myself when I stopped before her.
Her eyes widened.
“As in Sophie Devereaux? You’re the one who defeated the Dark Witches?” Her voice was full of wonder as she stared up at me from where she was sitting.
I quickly looked around us to make sure no one had overheard her. I didn’t want the attention. That was why I hadn’t asked Celeste to introduce me to her friend or anyone else in the village.
Amelie seemed to pick up on my unease and didn’t say anything else on the matter. Instead, she moved the oil lamp, setting it on the porch behind her.
“Would you like to join me?” She patted the spot next to her on the step.
I hesitated for a moment, but then my gaze snagged on the book again, and I couldn’t resist. Perching next to Amelie, I took a closer look at the tome in her lap.
“It’s printed,” I observed, as if to myself. I would have expected a hand-written book, considering the simpler, more primitive living conditions here in the woods.
“Yes,” Amelie replied, her expression open and warm. “This particular book is rather old, from the time before we went into hiding.”
My brows flew up in surprise.
“It’s still in such a good condition,” I observed.
Amelie let out a soft laugh at my bewilderment.
“It’s been preserved with magic.” Her gaze dropped to the book, and she lovingly brushed her fingers over the pages. “Some words are a bit archaic, but they’re words nonetheless,so I cherish them. Do you like to read?” Her eyes were curious when she lifted them back up to my face.
“I do. I did…before everything…” I trailed off, my brows pinching.
Understanding crept into Amelie’s eyes. Understanding, not pity, for which I was grateful.
“I’ve heard about your mother…and the ones before her,” she said quietly. “You’ve had to sacrifice so much. You all did.”
Her soft tone almost brought tears to my eyes. She was intuitive and sweet like Rory, and I had to fight the urge to tell her about the situation with the clans and the sacrifice others, like Waylon, were expecting from me now. I thought if I did, she’d understand why I was hesitating, why, for the first time ever, I wanted to live for myself instead of living, or rather dying, for others.
“Take it,” Amelie said a heartbeat later, closing the book and handing it to me.
“What?” I asked, caught off guard.
A small smile graced her lips.
“I often find solace in books. Perhaps you can find a bit of comfort in this one.”
My eyes pricked with tears as I stared at her, seeing Rory.
“You remind me of someone,” I said, my voice hoarse with emotion.
“A friend?” she asked, and I nodded. “Does she like to read?”
“She did,” I said past the lump in my throat.
Amelie’s soft smile faded, another wave of understanding washing over her delicate features.
“I see. You know…when I think about my people—our people,” she quickly corrected herself. “The ones that we lost…I like to imagine that they are in a better place, surrounded by people they love and things they enjoy. I think your friend is there, too, reading all her favorite books.”
A startled laugh burst out of me as I quickly wiped away the tear that had escaped. “I think you’re right.”
